


What You Know

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Arguing, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, a fair few British swears, zero plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You don't want to be alone."</p>
<p>----<br/>This can barely be considered a fic. It's more something I wrote so I could get used to typing on the tablet PC I got for Christmas. In addition to that, this is quite obviously inspired by Two Door Cinema Club's song 'What You Know'. It obviously spirals away from the song entirely but there you go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Know

**Author's Note:**

> A little bit of fluff I thought I'd upload because why not? I apologise if the characterisation is a bit off etc. etc. and I'd appreciate any spelling mistakes or strange word choices being pointed out to me (I dislike the autocorrect function).

"I can tell just what you want, Sherlock," John says, nonchalant as he taps the tip of his pen against the crossword he's doing in the newspaper.

Sherlock scoffs, tips his head backwards just a little bit more so he can glare and perhaps inwardly laugh at what John might propose. "And just what do you think that is, John?" 

"You don't want to be alone."

There's a pause, a moment where they're quiet and both contemplate what John has said. At first it sounds preposterous (or at least it does to Sherlock), but that doesn't stop him from thinking about it, about the repercussions of the statement. After a few minutes Sherlock sits up and slides his hands through his hair, ruffling it before he stands, directing a frown in John's direction. 

"I've been alone for most of my life, John - I rather think I've got used to it by now, thank you very much," he wraps his dressing gown around himself tightly, stepping out from behind of the coffee table, "I can deal with my life on my own and I'd very much appreciate it if you didn't seek it upon yourself to intrude." 

With that, Sherlock sweeps out of the room, his dressing gown following in a twirl of fabric behind him. 

"Sherlock! You can't just up and leave like that," John says, standing from his seat and throwing the newspaper behind him as he follows after Sherlock - of whom is currently hurriedly heading to his bedroom.

"I can do whatever I want, John," Sherlock calls back with a huff. He reaches his bedroom and moves to open the door, only for a palm to slam down just next to his face and close it again. A sharp inhale through his nose and he turns slowly, eyes narrowed, to face John. 

"You can't do whatever you want and you damn well know that," John hisses out, his other hand coming up and pressing against the door on the other side of Sherlock's head. 

"On the contrary, I can and I will," replies Sherlock with abhorrence, his palms pressing harshly again John's chest before pushing, trying to get him away. It works to an extent because one arm falls away; the other arm, however, stays firmly planted against the door to the left of his face. It's an improvement though, he supposes - at least now he has room to breathe and deduce and plan.

However, John's body presses closer, his chest just brushing up against Sherlock's own, and he can't help the spike of sudden arousal that he feels deep in the pit of his gut. It's right under his nose in the form of John Watson and he's an idiot for never noticing it before. He keeps his breathing steady, controlled and predictable, because John would never notice something like that - John is normal, he'd never be able to pick up the fact and deduce anything from it other than that Sherlock was uncomfortable, which appears to be exactly what he wants Sherlock to be right now. 

"No, you won't," John breathes, his other arm coming up again, only this time it presses against the door to the right of Sherlock's waist. "For once in your life you're actually going to pay attention to what I'm saying to you and you're going to act upon it."

John leans forward more, their chests pressing together fully, and if John didn't know already then Sherlock's willing to bet on the fact that he probably knows now considering the way Sherlock tilts his head back against the door and just breathes. Because it's John, he'll either do one of two things: have a sexuality crisis and walk away, or he'll keep on going, unrelenting, until he's made his point or until Sherlock pushes him away - because John won't make him do something he doesn't want to do, he knows that.  

John leans forwards, presses his mouth carefully against the arch of Sherlock's neck before moving up to his ear. He gently presses his lips against it, the curve of them spelling out a smile as Sherlock shudders underneath his touch. "You're insufferable," John breathes, and Sherlock bites down hard on his lip because, oh, that's just...sensation - all of it's sensation.

"You're horrible, downright heartless at times," John continues, sliding his hand along the curve of Sherlock's waist before slipping it under his shirt, "You care about only yourself about ninety percent of the time, and even then 'care' is a loose definition."

The hand pauses in it's journey, pressing flat against the small of Sherlock's back, fingers splayed. "Don't you ever dare to change, you absolute prick," John mumbles, turning to press his lips against Sherlock's cheek, his touch suddenly soft. 

Sherlock turns his head towards the touch, catching John's lips with his own. Raising a hand, Sherlock presses it to the back of John's neck, holding him close as their lips slide together. After a few moments of what can barely be considered a kiss - more of a press of lips and breathing as Sherlock tried to get his mind around what was happening - the detective pulls away and just stares at his flatmate with something not unlike awe. The silence stretches on for a few minutes until John speaks up. 

"We can stop there if you want," he says, voice soft as he slides his hand up and down the length of Sherlock's back, his hand still underneath his shirt.

Sherlock swallows, contemplates the offer, contemplates his limits and his experience and what he really wants. "We don't need to rush," he states, though it sounds slightly questioning to his own ears.

"Of course we don't," John smiles gently at him.

"I'm fine with, um, kissing, then. For now," Sherlock almost winces at his own words, the way his voice shakes ever so slightly. John just smiles at him, presses their lips together again, and kisses him properly.

\----


End file.
